Down Once More
by aussiesheila47
Summary: Christine and Raoul visit the Opera Populaire twenty years after leaving it. All goes well, until Christine falls down a trap-door... ON HIATUS


**Down Once More**

_If you love me, then let go of me.  
I won't be held down by who I used to be  
_'_**Weight of the World' by Evanescence**_

"Where shall we honeymoon?" Raoul asked Christine once they had cleaned themselves up after leaving the Phantom in his lair.

"I've always wanted to go to Venice," Christine mused.

"Venice it is, then," Raoul declared.

Six months later saw the couple in a very different gondolier (it was actually outside, though thankfully it wasn't raining), and twenty further years saw then happily married with three children. Christine had not been to Paris since she had sung in _Don Juan Triumphant_. This somewhat bothered her eldest son.

"Come to Paris, Mother," pleaded Jean-Claude. "Our friends always wonder why we are never in Paris."

Christine turned frightened eyes to her husband, but of course she could refuse her eldest son nothing, so the little family went to Paris.

And of course they went to l'Opera Populaire, but only after Clarisse, their youngest child and only daughter, expressed a great longing to see the daughter of her nurse's sister, who was in the _corps de ballet_.

Meg Giry, a spinster now but also the ballet mistress, having taken over when her mother had retired, was ecstatic to see her old friend. Jean-Claude, on the other hand, was highly perturbed to discover that his gentle mother had been a working girl. Raoul merely chuckled and held his daughter's hand, pointing out that Christine's singing career had blossomed at the opportune moment, as he and she had been reunited because of it.

Christine threw a worried glance around the room, as though afraid that the walls were listening in. Meg saw her anxiety, and drew her to one side.

"He has not done a thing that we know of, since you left. He hasn't written any new productions, he hasn't killed anyone, he hasn't interfered with any productions that we have put on. He certainly hasn't taken such an interest in anyone as he took in you," she told her. Victor, the middle child, was obviously straining his ears to listen in, but Meg spoke so softly it was impossible. "It's as though he died."

Christine felt rather uncomfortable. It was entirely possible that the Phantom _had_ died. Raoul had told her that the Phantom was about as old as Mme Giry, and it was a miracle that the woman had survived until now, and the Phantom, Christine reflected somewhat guiltily, had even less reason to want to stay alive.

"You say you sang, Mother?" said Clarisse. "Would you sing something for us?"

Raoul nodded encouragingly, and Christine made up her mind. If Raoul said it would be all right, of course it would be all right. So all four made their way onto the empty stage (the auditorium was closed for cleaning, but of course Raoul as a patrician, and Christine as a former employee had the equivalent of an all-access pass) and Christine began to sing.

_Think of me  
Think of me fondly,  
When we've said goodbye.  
Remember me once in a while -  
please promise me you'll try.__To take your heart back and be free -  
If you ever find a moment,  
Spare a thought for me__When I won't think of you . . ._

When you find that, once again, you long

We never said our love was evergreen,  
Or as unchanging as the sea -  
But if you can still remember  
Stop and think of me . . .

Think of all the things  
We've shared and seen -  
Don't think about the things  
Which might have been . . .

Think of me,  
Think of me waking,  
Silent and resigned.  
Imagine me, trying too hard  
To put you from my mind.

Recall those days  
Look back on all those times,  
Think of the things we'll never do -  
There will never be a day

We never said our love was evergreen,  
Or as unchanging as the sea -  
But please promise me that sometimes  
You will think of me!

Meg stared at Christine in wonder. "You're as magnificent as you always were," she praised her.

Raoul was similarly moved. It was, after all, the song that had returned Christine to him all those years ago.

However, the sight of an all-too-familiar silhouette behind an awestruck Clarisse sent Christine into a panicked frenzy. Uttering a hasty apology to Meg, she raced from the stage, her family trailing behind her. Once they had caught up with her – fairly easily, because of Christine's corset – she explained that she had seen 'his shadow.' Raoul stared at her, horrified, then swept up Clarisse and started running again.

Christine, Victor and Jean-Claude followed in hot pursuit.

"His shadow?" Jean-Claude repeated. "What do you mean, _his_ shadow? Whose shadow? Why does it frighten you? Why are we running away?"

Christine couldn't have answered if she had wanted to; her corset was too tight for her to speak while running. She fell behind, and finally as Victor and Jean-Claude disappeared around a corner, she tripped and fell –

- headfirst into a trapdoor that had opened up. Raoul raced back, just in time to see the heels of her shoes disappear and the trap-door close. "Not again," he groaned.

"What do you mean?" Jean-Claude demanded. "Where did Mother go?"

"Papa, what's going on?" asked Clarisse.

All Raoul would say, was, "Where's Madame Giry when you need her?"

Down and down Christine fell, like Alice down the rabbit hole, until she landed with a flump on soft cushions. It was then that she realised that she'd injured her ankle. "Oh, dear," she muttered, sitting up gingerly and looking around. The first thing she noticed was the masked man holding the lantern she was seeing by.

"Hello, Christine," said the Phantom.

Christine fainted.

* * *

"Of course I remember how to get down there," Meg said, looking at Raoul in surprise. "How could I forget?"

"Well, I repressed it," Raoul muttered. "Could you take us, please?"

"But of course," Meg answered, and, handing them each a lantern, she led them to the Phantom's lair.

When Christine came to, she was lying in the swan-shaped bed she had found herself in once before. After hesitantly rubbing her calves together to check if her stockings hadn't slipped off, she sat up. The Phantom was sitting on a chair beside the bed. As Christine's skirts moved across the black satin coverlet, his head snapped up.

"Hello," he said again.

"Hello," said Christine.

"I knew you'd come back," said the Phantom as Christine stood up. His arm shot out to catch her as the pain in her ankle was too much and she collapsed. "You haven't changed a bit."

Christine sat back on the edge of the bed and the Phantom removed his arm from her waist. "Until today, I've not sung for years, not including lullabies to my three children."

The Phantom took a step back without, it seemed, realising it. "Three," he echoed, staring at her.

Christine nodded. "Jean-Claude, who is eighteen. Victor, who is thirteen. Clarisse, who is nine."

The Phantom turned away, but only for a moment, and only to hand Christine a crutch.

"Now you know their names, but do you know, I still don't know yours?" Christine remarked.

"Erik," said the Phantom tersely. "My name is Erik."

"Erik," Christine repeated, and was rewarded with a look of puppy-dog devotion.

Erik recovered himself after a few seconds, and had the presence of mind to ask, "Would you like something to eat?"

Christine tried to lean more on her crutch than his arm as she hobbled down the stairs, but it was a little hard. Erik moved with her. The crutch didn't.

A few minutes later saw the two of them seated at opposite ends of a table. Christine was daintily tucking in to a cheese platter.

"You sounded as though you did vocal exercises every day," Erik, who hadn't touched a bite, told her.

Christine finished chewing. "Thank you."

A few minutes of silence, broken only by the sound of the water lapping against the bank of the underground lake, and Christine's chewing.

"Well, this isn't awkward," muttered Erik.

Christine looked down at the heavy wooden table. It looked like it was made of English oak.

"Would you sing for me, please?" said Erik.

Christine stared at him. Where were the demands of yesteryear, the demands of the Angel of Music? Oh – wait – he wasn't the Angel of Music, was he? "What would you like me to sing?" she asked at last.

"Anything," said Erik. "Just to hear your voice again …" He trailed off, and Christine was left to wonder why.

Christine sang a few scales, and then launched into one of her solos from _Don Juan Triumphant_. Like Meg, it was impossible for her to forget.

It was her melodious voice that Meg and Raoul heard as they dashed down to the underground lake. Their splashing through the man-made river made Erik and Christine look over at the grate.

"Raoul!" Christine cried, and grabbed her crutch. She wasn't looking at Erik's face, so she didn't see the spasm of pain that crossed it, followed by a very dark look, which was replaced in turn by a blank, bland expression. Instead, barely noticing her ankle, she hobbled over to the shore. "Raoul! Meg! Meg, how did you find – why are the children here?

For the first time in several minutes, Erik moved. His head turned, and then he leapt from his chair. "My god," he breathed.

Christine found the lever that let up the grate. She pushed it, the grate raised up, and Raoul and Jean-Claude rushed under it.

"Not awkward at all," Erik muttered as he and Raoul had an impromptu staring competition.

Christine hadn't moved in polite society for twenty years without gaining some sense of diplomacy. "Erik, these are my children, Jean-Claude, Victor, and Clarisse. Children, this is Erik, my … the man who used to give me singing lessons."

"Nicely done," Meg mouthed over Clarisse's head.

Erik wouldn't look at Jean-Claude, and Christine could understand why – Jean-Claude was the exact image of his father. Erik also avoided looking at Clarisse, which Christine didn't understand so well. Clarisse, it had often been remarked, looked like a much younger Christine.

"Do any of you sing?" Erik asked, apparently to fill the uneasy silence that ensued.

Jean-Claude and Clarisse shook their heads no, but –

"I'm in the choir at school," said Victor. Raoul made a sudden movement with his hand, as though he had been about to grip his son's shoulder, then had second thoughts.

There was a pause. "I see," said Erik at last.

The sounds of the orchestra starting up floated down to the group. "Oh dear," said Meg, glancing at the watch pinned to her belt. "I didn't realise it was so late – I'm supposed to be overseeing that rehearsal." She turned to Erik. "Is there a faster way to the orchestra pit than the way we came?"

"Where did you come from?"

"The ballet dormitories," said Clarisse, helpfully.

Erik turned and pulled a brocade sheet off what Christine had taken to be a mirror – it was actually a door. "This will take you to the chapel."

Suddenly Christine realised how he had coached her when she had gone to light a candle for her father.

The group started up the stairs, with Meg in the lead. A façade swung shut after Jean-Claude, but it was only after Christine had watched Raoul lead Clarisse out of the little room that she realised that Victor hadn't come out.

"Raoul!" she cried in alarm. Raoul and Jean-Claude threw themselves against the painted façade, but to no avail – it was most definitely stuck.

Christine sank to her knees, never minding her skirt. "The Lord giveth … and He taketh away," she whispered. She felt a hand upon her shoulder. Meg hadn't dashed off, but was staying to help her old friend. "Victor … my son …"

**A.N: I saw the stage production of **_**Phantom of the Opera**_** a while ago – Gerry Butler hasn't got a thing on Anthony Warlow, let me tell you – but it inspired this little thing. At the moment, I think it's just a one-shot. I may continue it if the muse pleases, but that won't be for quite a while, I think. Reviews are always appreciated!**


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